勝美2

Another 金曜五 and Friday5 doubleheader!

Questions courtesy of 金曜五.

1. Whatcha been up to?

Nothing much. Bastille Days and Storm The Bastille 5K were cancelled. Not that I'd have been able to run this year.

FUN FACT: Meskousing / Miskonsing / Mescousin / Meskousing in the Menominee / Miami / Kickapoo / Mascouten languages became Ouisconsin in French and eventually Wisconsin.

And I attended Marquette University, a Jesuit Catholic school named after the seventeenth century Jesuit priest / explorer who canoed across Wisconsin to the Mississippi River at Prairie du Chien (French: prairie of dogs).

Once upon a time, my friend Spewgie and I ordered the champagne flights. Four bruts and a dessert champagne. At fifty dollars that was pretty expensive for two twenty-one year olds. Started with a sparkling wine from California (champagnes come from Champagne in France) manufactured with the Charmat bulk process. Secondary fermentation in a bulk vat vs individual bottles as in Méthode Champenoise. We drank our way through several champagnes including Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label (poured from a Methuselah, a very large six liter bottle) and Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame (after Madame Clicquot Ponsardin who ushered in several improvements in the fermentation process during the nineteenth century) and winding up with Moët & Chandon Dom Pérignon.

Breeding shows. The bubbles in the sweet, fruity Charmat bulk process were large and coarse. Wine soda pop. My favorite is still Yellow Label, mostly because it is very good and less than fifty dollars / 750 ml.

And a coupe glass, not a flute

2. What's the latest from the front?

A sad day. The Fire And Police Commission unanimously voted to suspend Officer Mensah. Prelude to firing.

And citing COVID-19 concerns, the public meeting was conducted via Zoom. That's funny. Other meetings have gone on as scheduled. The little cowards were too chicken to be confronted by protesters.

The commission appointed former US attorney Steven Biskupic as special investigator.

The elected and appointed officials kowtowed to protesters and the management of Mayfair Mall.

Everyone except me seems to have forgotten the "racist" officer is black. The news media, the protesters.... Well, me and the Fire And Police Commission who didn't hesitate to throw Officer Mensah under the bus.

勝美: Why are you protesting?
Protester: Wauwatosa is racist.
勝美: I am a woman of color and I live in Wauwatosa.
Protester: That cop killed three black men.
勝美: One was Hispanic, one was seventeen years old, one was a black man. Charged towards him with a sword; refused to drop his stolen semi-automatic and shot at police; dropped his hands and went for his gun. Corroborated by witnesses or dashboard cam recordings.
Protester: That white cop is racist.
勝美: That white cop is African-American.
Protester: I didn't know you had a black cop.
勝美: We don't. We have four.
Protester: Yeah, well they're prejudiced.

So wrapped up in their hatred.

And you have to wonder why the local news media hasn't mention that Officer Mensah is black. Or published a picture. If a white officer shot a black, pictures of the white officer would be plastered all over everything. And everyone would be painfully aware he was black.

The sin of omission.

I suppose riots sell papers and television advertising.

Mensah is a Ghanaian name. That should have clued everyone in Officer Mensah is black.

The sacrificial lamb to appease the unknowing protesters.

3. What up?

Yuka Kinoshita is starting an ASMR channel.

I hope this doesn't spell the winding down of her mukbang channel. Or worse, mukbangs without her commentary and just food and chewing noises.

4. What's new?

Started a recall for the alderpersons and Fire And Police Commission members.

Actually not so much of a recall as going to their homes, knocking on their doors wearing my businesslike dark grey scrubs, Hello Kitty coronavirus mask and clip board with the "recall petition" for them to sign.

Of course no one signed my fake petition but that's not the point. We are trying to instill fear.

One alderperson, Heather Kuhl of District 5, Ward 15,

I think I would have worn something nicer like my dark grey chalkstripe skirt suit
and requested a formal portrait for my official photograph. Maybe sitting at a desk
with the American, Wisconsin and village flags. And done something with my hair.

...was rebuked when she went off on an anti-police tantrum while the council was in session. Called out. There were a lot of negative comments from her constituents.

Heather, no one cares what you think. We, the people, elected you. Your job is to represent your constituents.

I didn't vote for her mainly because I don't live in that ward. They, the people, sounds kind of dumb.

She has stellar qualifications. Stay-at-home mother and worked in a bakery.

Wore a t-shirt with a caricature of Trump with profanity while volunteering at the November election.

"Poll workers are instructed not to wear caps, shirts, buttons related to issues on the ballot. Poll workers should never wear political clothing or buttons of any kind." — Julietta Henry, elections director of Milwaukee County.

"I believe that people are attempting to make a mountain out of a molehill." — Heather.

Wisconsin law prohibits electioneering within polling places, which includes any activity intended to influence voting at an election, according to Reid Magney, public information of the Wisconsin Elections Commission. The statute restricts freedom of speech at the polls in order to provide voters an environment to cast their ballots freely, without interference from improper influence by others, according to Magney.

"It is our understanding that the election inspector covered up the shirt when it was called to her attention by the chief inspector, which was appropriate," Magney said. — Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.

"While volunteering as a poll worker I wore a shirt that included profanity in another language. The decision to wear this shirt was a lapse in judgment, and I would like to apologize to any voters or poll workers that were offended by the language. I take my position as a representative of district five very seriously, and I want to assure my constituents that, while I’m certainly not perfect, I do take esponsibility for my missteps and am committed to learning from them."— Heather's Facebook page.

Heather also posted on her public Facebook page she was taking a break from social media for the rest of the month to spend more time with her children and "less engaged with needless negativity online."

Heather — you aren't taking responsibility. You've conveniently forgotten the most important part. Y'know, the part about breaking state election law by wearing a shirt with a political message. And you are a stay-at-home mom. How much more time are you going to spend with your children? Being an alderperson must demand three or four hours a month of your time. And you brought the negativity on yourself. You were told in advance not to do it but in spite of that you went and did it anyhow.

You're forty-three years old. Grow up, missy.

Waaaaoooo. I am starting to sound like my mother.

In my sleepy little village being the incumbent means being set for life.

Alderperson 勝美. It's got a ring to it. Too bad the hours conflict with my third shift lifestyle.

5. What's on the agenda?

Still haven't put the top down on the roadster and gone for a midnight spin. Haven't left the house since I was in the hospital. None of my favorite destinations are open at three o'clock in the morning. Coronavirus. And I wouldn't want to go there anyway. Maybe the twisty turny roads by Holy Hill or go really fast on country roads by the shore.

Friday5 questions courtesy of Scrivener. Thank you!

Friday 5 for July 17: Hopscotch and Crayons.

1. What was your favorite piece of playground equipment when you were a kid?

My first kiss was while hanging upside down on the monkeybars.

2. What do you remember about your first-grade teacher? Pick the earliest grade teacher you remember, if you don’t remember anything about your first-grade teacher.

Sister Gabriella. Gabby.

Wrote the original material for our garage band. Who’d a thunk? All those years of piano lessons finally paid off. But mostly we did covers.

Of the originals, my favorites were On The Corner Where You Live or that great honky-tonk number There’s A Rolling Stones Sticker On My Town & Country And Mick Jagger In My Heart AKA The Minivan Song.

❤ Doki doki.

And who can forget the haunting autobiographical Grounded For Life? A song about Sister Gabriella.

One time Spewgie and I were sitting in the Chairs Of Shame in the principal’s office and the monsignor walked in. Sister Florence, the principal, kept a bishop’s scarlet biretta on top of the filing cabinets. It was a running joke with them. He would put on the hat and ask, “Sister, how do I look?” And she would respond, “As you should look.” Meaning he deserved a promotion from monsignor to bishop. Or archbishop.

Yeah, that’s pretty funny alright. But think about the dumb things that pass for hilarious at your job. Pre-coronavirus, natch.

Well, that morning he was about to go into the hat routine but noticed Spewgie and me.

“Good morning, Jean! Good morning, 勝美! And what brings you here today?”

It is never good when someone in authority knows you on a first name basis.

Thank goodness Sister Florence interrupted because otherwise I probably would have dug myself in deeper.

We were the organizers of a Death Pool!

That wasn’t so bad but the teacher who got wind of it was shocked we’d included Sister Gabriella on the list.

Sister Gabriella was like four hundred and eighty-nine years old. Even the monsignor had to suppress a smile. Her main duties other than teaching consisted of being in charge of the record player in the cafeteria at lunch.

♪ ♫ I was dancing with my darling to The Tennessee Waltz
When an old friend I happened to see ♫
♪ Introduced her to my loved one and while they were dancing
My friend stole my sweetheart from me ♪ ♫

♫ ♪ I remember the night and The Tennessee Waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost ♪
♫ Yes, I lost my little darling on the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee Waltz ♪ ♫

♫ ♪ I remember the night and The Tennessee Waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost ♪
♫ Yes, I lost my little darling on the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee Waltz ♪ ♫


Spewgie estimates we've heard that song two thousand times. Nowadays that would probably lead to a beat down in the parking lot or a drive by.

I was reading just the other day… I think it was National Geographic. Scientists found some shark in the waters off Iceland that is believed to be over four hundred years old.

A sample of protein taken from the shark’s eyes. Like counting the rings of a tree or something.

Just think. Sister Gabriella would be older than that shark. Why she might have come over on the Mayflower!

I know my father’s family did.

And she is as old as that joke.

I attribute The Tennessee Waltz with our being able to eat so quickly. We were first on the playground for kickball or jumprope. Unless inclement weather. Such as —30° F. Wearing our mad-about-plaid school uniform skirts or jumper dresses and reproduction US Air Force N-3B snorkel parkas or skiing jackets. And military surplus Type I bunny boots. Just like Mickey Mouse boots except white for the Arctic Zone. Simply adorbs.

The church bell would ring noon. Stop whatever you are doing and drop to your knees to pray The Angelus. And pray for nice weather or we are going to sit quietly in the cafeteria and hear The Tennessee Waltz a few more times.

Unless it was Lasagna Day or Mock Chicken Leg Day which meant triple or quadruple lunches. Then we didn’t care about The Tennessee Waltz or Confess or I’m Dreaming. I would like to meet the person who can jump double dutch after a mukbang.

And we couldn’t go to our classrooms and get our books so we could do homework because we’d be unsupervised. That was the official story anyway. I think it was because the nuns were concerned we’d play Hangman on the classroom chalkboards. Or smuggle shivs into the cafeteria in our Hello Kitty trapper keepers and start an uprising. Burn the place down!

Which would have meant running through the tunnel to the church and borrowing devotional candles but those are the details you have to consider for a successful riot.

Burn, baby, burn! Attica! Attica!

We were given the relatively light sentence of no recess for the rest of the week. Report to church immediately after lunch and pray five rosaries. Our offering to apologize to Sister Gabriella got it reduced to four rosaries.

That is a lot of Hail Marys! Thank goodness we got busted on a Thursday afternoon.

Hail, Mary!
Full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed are thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.

So. By the time you get to the fourth rosary things are getting pretty e e cummings.

hailmaryfullofgracethelordiswiththeeblessedarethouamongstwomenandblessedisthefruitofthywombJesusholymarymotherofGodprayforussinnersnowandatthehourofourdeathamen

This experience proved to be invaluable during a college discussion of J D Salinger’s Franny And Zooey where Franny has been reading The Way Of A Pilgrim. Internalizing a prayer in the manner of a Zen Buddhist koan. Prayer without ceasing; prayer becomes as taking a breath.

As expected, Sister contacted our parents. We were grounded.

I would have asked the monsignor if he wanted to get in on our pool but I didn’t think he was good for the five bucks.

Remember when the prisoners in the POW camp tied tin cans to Peter Graves and pushed him outside the barracks in Stalag 17?

Spewgie would say, “This next little number is Grounded For Life and it goes a little something like this,” and she’d launch us into it. The look on Betsy’s face was priceless. The song was more about Sister Gabriella and Betsy getting us into trouble ⁠— as accidental (or careless) as it was ⁠— than about us being grounded. And what’s the big deal? Sit home a couple of nights like a perfect angel and then, “But mother. I have to go to the library tonight! It’s for school!” And within a week life is back to normal.

There’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and lip. Feel free to quote me on that.

We eventually forgave Betsy but never trusted her with super top secret girls only clearance again.

3. What’s an especially memorable field trip you took with a class in your very early years?

In grade school, we had the same teacher for sixth, seventh and eighth grade. Only male teacher until I went to college.

He spent summers in Canada as an actor in their Shakespeare festival.

Our class went on several field trips to see Shakespearean plays. For which we had to prepare. The most difficult was Love’s Labor’s Lost. Pretty much a rarity nowadays due to many obscure references to contemporary persons. It took a line-by-line dissection and hours of research.

I am a natural leader and my best friend, Spewgie, is a natural teacher. I divided the girls in my class into study groups under Spew-chan’s supervision so our work wasn’t overlapping and each individual wasn’t drowning in notes and spending countless hours at the library.

I love her with all my heart but sometimes Spew-Spew has to chill. Sometimes she demands too much.

Some of the girls complained Spewgie was worse than Sister Florine (who made geography a living hell).

I reminded them they were free to leave the study group. And increase their homework by 400%.

That quieted things down pretty quickly.

All the hard work paid off. All of us loved the play. And we received A+ for our homework for the semester.

Of course I got an A+. I am Asian. Not Bsian or Csian. Or Dsian or Fsian.

Never forget the morning all of us girls filed into the classroom for our first day of eighth grade. Teacher sat at his desk, extremely pale as if he hadn’t been outdoors all summer. Because he hadn’t. His whole right leg was encased in a cast. During vacation, he appeared as Falstaff in The Merry Wives Of Windsor by William Shakespeare. He missed his mark and fell through a trap door. Ouchie wow wow. On a recreation of Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre stage.

The previous school year, one of our homework assignments had been to draw detailed plans of the Globe. With the traps.

Or the time teacher brought in a heavy box. Clay. And declared it Art Day. Something we never had before.

“And I better not see any ashtrays. Right, 勝美?”

Yes, sir.

And we started getting our creative on.

You know that feeling you get when somebody is watching you? Well this was worse. Teacher was standing beside me. Ruh roh.

“What did I just say about ashtrays?”

It’s an Egyptian sarcophagus. Sir.

Pretty quick thinking on my part ’cause not too many ashtrays have lids with “hieroglyphics” and that would have been a trip to the principal’s office for certain.

So so so. Fast forward six years. Spewgie and I were very much looking forward to the première of Love’s Labor’s Lost by the repertory company. From what I understood, all the difficulty for modern theatergoers was cleared up by the actors using cellphones.

Say what? Cellphones on stage? In Shakespeare?

So sorry. I like the actresses and actors to be in Elizabethan costume.

Our first experience with Shakespeare was on our field trip. Actors going onstage in casual street clothes and opening a trunk. While they spoke their first lines, they pulled out their “Elizabethan” costumes from the trunk and slipped their dresses over their heads. The men tied up the legs of their trousers with ribbons and put on puffy-sleeved jackets and hats.

Magic!

Meanwhile, back in 2008, the Shakespeare company shut down two days before the performance.

Our season ticket money was refunded. Now we have to drive over two hours for our Shakespeare fix.

But we do touristy things along the way and if we plan carefully we can see Macbeth and Twelfth Night on successive days.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream DVD of was one of my birthday gifts to Spewgie. She loved it.

This year I was thinking of conveniently forgetting our Bucky Badger kangaroo hoodies so I’d have to buy us Shakespeare hoodies at the gift shop. Outdoor amphitheater. It gets cold in the countryside at night. But the theater is closed. Coronavirus.

4. What are some fads you remember from your elementary school days? Did you get into them?

I attended a parochial school for girls. Strict dress code. But we found a loophole.

Mountain climbing socks.

In seventh grade the fashion was mountain climbing socks with our mad-about-plaid school uniforms. Betsy's socks always had the perfect slouchy look without her having to pull them up repeatedly and readjust them all the time.

Betsy's secret: Socks Glue.

Fashion is fleeting. The principal outlawed mountain climbing socks and introduced mandatory navy knee socks shortly after the autumn semester began. They were too distracting from our prayers or something like that. But we got the last laugh. We wore navy knee socks with our gym uniforms, our lacrosse uniforms and for baseball and basketball.

At school, we'd change from our Converse Chuck Taylor high tops to our regulation penny loafers. In winter, reproduction US Air Force N-3B snorkel parkas or skiing jackets. And military surplus Type I bunny boots as I previously mentioned. Usually way too big 'cause they're not designed for grade school girls. Untied (unless there was deep snow) so you sort of scuffed along on your merry way.

And bleaching our hair, Tamagotchi, Pokémon, Zippo lighters and Player's Navy Cut or Sobranie Cocktail cigarettes. Switched to Lucky Strike and Winston when the tobacco shop closed.

5. If your elementary school had food service, what’s a lunch you were especially fond of, and what’s a lunch you were especially not fond of?

The cafeteria was in the basement of the church and connected to the school by a series of long spooky tunnels ("The Catacombs" and that's funny 'cause early Catholics worshiped and buried the dead in catacombs to avoid persecution from Roman Lives Matter) illuminated with overhead bare light bulbs in wire cages like in submarines in old movies. We'd pray for nice weather so our class could take the shortcut through the playground instead of walking through the tunnels. And every now and then some unknown person would turn the lights out when we were halfway through causing all kinds of screaming and hand holding.

You can hear the echoey screams from either end of the tunnel where the light switches were located. We know. We tested by having one girl stand in the school stairwell and another standing at the church access. Probably an eighth grade girl because it seemed to us they could pretty much do whatever they wanted.

Mandatory Mass before school. So. No breakfast. Fasting before receiving Communion. I would go to my friend Spewgie's house and we'd pack ourselves a brown paper bag brunch and walk to church.

By noon I was starving. We purchased lunch with our hot lunch program punch card. Being the only Asian in school was a problem on Lasagna Day. Only one hot lunch per customer. So. I had to bribe two or three classmates into getting in line with my punch card for extra lunches. Of course this was during the nineties and our paper punch cards had to be manually punched with a hole puncher. Not like today with scanners. Back in the olden days you could get away with murder.

Lasagna, salad with Italian vinaigrette and green Jell-O.

I probably could have polished off five or six lasagnas but that was before mukbanging was cool.

Fish fries are pretty great. It's a Wisconsin thing.

When I was a little girl, the parish served fish fries on Fridays (except Good Friday) during Lent and Advent, times of religious fasting.

Fish fries used to be a big deal around here. A really big deal. Nowadays every tavern and restaurant seems to copycat and have a Friday fish fry.

School lunch on Friday during Advent and Lent would be generic food service peanut butter (not even Peter Pan or Skippy or Jif) on Wonder Bread sandwiches cut into rectangles (I prefer triangles) and a bowl of vegetarian pea soup. You’d carry your tray to one of the long rows of tables and climb up and sit on those dark beige metal folding chairs and wonder how you were going to slip past the nuns without actually eating any of that slop. Paul Muni in I Was A Fugitive From A Chain Gang had it easy.

“Children in Africa are starving!” They are welcome to my lunch, Sister. That is the kind of attitude that got me sent to the principal’s office. And that really does go on your permanent record. Try explaining that during a job interview. Or like I can’t read upside-down. How the lunch ladies managed to screw up a peanut butter sandwich is beyond me. I don’t know. So sorry, I mean like that material is probably the first lesson covered at Le Ecole Cordon Bleu.

At suppertime, you’d return with your parents to the church’s school’s cafeteria. That’s a misnomer. Cafeteria implies choices. At school we were forced to eat whatever mystery meat they dished out. My parents would never sit in the right area that I was accustomed to from lunchtime despite my coaching. Everyone passed around huge platters of fried whitefish which you can’t even get anymore because invasive species have wiped out commercial fishing in Lake Michigan. And crisp potato pancakes. Bowls of chunky cinnamon applesauce to put on your pancakes (but I always ate mine separately. I don’t like my food to touch). Thick caraway rye bread with butter and coleslaw. Green and purple cabbage with a vinegar dressing.

Nearby adults would comment to my father, “Well, you’re certainly getting your money’s worth out of her!” meaning that I was all ravenous and eating an awful lot as usual and it was an all-you-can-eat affair. My mother would respond with one of her classics: “I don’t know what our daughter is talking about. The food here is really delicious.”

That is the same trick they did at POW and internment camps in WWII. The minute the Red Cross inspectors show up to make sure everyone is having a good time, the prisoners would get the Michelin three star treatment. And the minute the Red Cross would leave – back to gruel / hard labor.

Then there would be huge pans of cherry cobbler. It might have been an all-you-can-eat but for some reason you were limited to one dessert. Or maybe it was one of those unwritten etiquette things. After polishing off my dessert, I would excuse myself from the table saying that I needed another half-pint carton of milk and track down classmates sitting at a different row of tables that hadn’t be served dessert yet and score an extra two or three cherry cobblers.

Dessert time at the fish fry. That is the only time in my life when it stunk to be a ‘minority’ because of the blending in / anonymity factor. Just me and Effie, a black girl.

In northern Wisconsin there is the fish boil. Big chunks of whitefish are put in a witch's cauldron over a blazing fire with potatoes and the biggest carrots I've ever seen. Three times Bugs Bunny. At the very end, gasoline is thrown on the fire in a dramatic finish. Something to do with oils burning off or something.

Served in a pool of melted butter. Very delicious.